


Meat

by the_me09



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 10:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9380846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_me09/pseuds/the_me09
Summary: When he had asked Watson ‘meat or potatoes,’ it was a simple joke.





	

When he had asked Watson ‘meat or potatoes,’ it was a simple joke. He had meant ‘do you want the main course or the side dish.’ Looking back, his question seems more ominous, it holds a double entendre he wished it didn’t.

 

Holmes had an advantage with the riding crop, but the man they called Dredger seemed impervious to his attack.

Dredger simply picked him up and threw across the room like a ragdoll. It was embarrassing. His head struck the wall and the room slid in and out of focus while he struggled to his feet.

He asked for a moment, in French of course, and tried to plan a surprise attack.

The wooden stick was helpful and he struck the giant man several times before it stuck in a pillar and Holmes was yet again clutched by the throat and tossed onto the table.

Watson asked if he was okay, but before Holmes had time to answer his ankle was grabbed and he was pushed onto his back.

Dredger was holding him down by the throat, though not enough to choke him. As Holmes began to formulate a plan his legs were nudged apart and a clothed erection pressed against him, effectively halting all thoughts. In the wake of silence only blind panic was left. He began struggling in the giant’s grip.

“Do not move,” he said tightening his hand around Holmes’ throat. “I will be gentle.”

Holmes was gasping for air and scrabbling at Dredger’s hands, but it did no good.

Where was Watson? He could hear fighting going on nearby, but Watson didn’t know what was happening. He believed Holmes could take care of himself, but he couldn’t he was in over his head.

The strangle hold loosened and he sucked in air greedily. The panic subsiding until Holmes felt a large hand undoing his trousers.

“No, please . . . stop,” Holmes gasped out, struggling again, but the hand didn’t stop and he was looking into the scarred face of his attacker.

“Relax little rabbit,” he rumbled with a leer distorting his already marred features.

Then he was exposed, the cool air hitting his flesh and making him shiver.

Holmes tried to call out to Watson, but the grip had tightened and neither sound nor air could escape.

Dredger pressed his now naked arousal against Holmes. He could feel the head leaving a sticky trail along his thigh. A finger was shoved roughly in his mouth.

It’s dirty and Holmes tastes gunpowder and coal. His mind latches onto these facts and tries to deduce why Dredger’s fingers taste this way.

“You like sucking things? You are so good at it.” Dredger pulled his fingers from Holmes’ mouth with an indecent wet popping noise.

One finger entered Holmes’ arse, and it was a violation he had never felt before. He had been stabbed and shot, mentally tortured and poisoned, but never raped and he let out a sob as Dredger’s hand again loosened on his neck.

“Relax and it will hurt less. I don’t want to hurt you little rabbit.” Dredger crooned adding a second finger to the tight ring of muscles.

Holmes’ mind was completely blank. Thoughts would form only to scatter at the horror of what was happening to his body. And yet he couldn’t stop cataloguing the stimuli.

Two fingers wet with my saliva inside me, stretching, one hand around my throat tight enough to bruise . . . but even those thoughts were swept away by the wave of pleasure that spiked through his body. The probing fingers had found his prostate and his previously flaccid cock began to harden.

“No, no” Holmes moaned, clenching his fists, willing his body not to respond.

“Dear little rabbit,” Dredger removed his fingers and guided his prick to Holmes’ puckered hole. “Do not fear.”

He pushed in slowly and Holmes’ erection wilted. Dredger pumped it and pressed his other hand on Holmes’ windpipe. The cutoff of air and the stimulation of his body had a curious effect.

Holmes stiffened almost immediately.

This mockery of tenderness was worse than if Dredger had taken him roughly and with no preparation. Holmes was crying without sound. Tears mercifully obscuring the vision of Dredger’s rapturous face. He was now completely sheathed in Holmes’ tight heat.

One hard thrust and Holmes was trying to shout and yell and scream despite the hand on his throat. It felt as though he was being torn in two. It stung and burned and he wished Watson could save him. Where was Watson?

His vision was blurring and blood was pounding in his ears. Holmes knew exactly how much air he had left before he passed out. That was his last hope to escape this torture.

Dredger loosened his hand and Holmes cursed him while sucking in air, which was immediately forced from him by a rough thrust.

The man above him was grunting and panting, one hand on Holmes’ hip, the other around his neck; forcing him down while Dredger pounded that sweet spot inside him keeping him aroused against his will.

Despite his mental protestations Holmes’ body was turning traitor. The animalistic part of him was taking over. He was meeting Dredger’s pelvis, building the rhythm.

Control was slipping, he felt small and helpless. A disconnected part of his mind wondered if this was how women felt all the time.

Pleasure was building in the base of his spine, white hot and so wrong. Shame welled in Holmes as a rough dirty hand worked him to completion.

He gave a hoarse shout as he spilled onto Dredger’s hand. The giant forced his fingers back into Holmes’ mouth, making him clean his own release from soot blackened digits.

Dredger’s hips stuttered and with a deep groan filled Holmes with his essence.

Holmes reached behind his head, reaching for something, anything that would remove him from this moment.

He felt Dredger pull out and the slippery trail of blood and come that followed. It dripped down his thighs and made his esophagus burn with the need to vomit.

Then his hands felt a curious metal tool. With a jerk he pulled a two-pronged rod from its base. As Dredger throttled him for what was surely meant to be the last time Holmes let the forked prong touch Dredger’s chest.

He was forcefully propelled through the door and into the next room. Holmes looked at the strange weapon in amazement and wished he had found it sooner.

 

Holmes slid off the table and pulled up his trousers. He was still on a case, and that single mindedness was a blessing, for he would not dwell on this attack whilst his mind was otherwise occupied. He would clean himself later and forget this ever happened, possibly with the help of his seven percent solution.


End file.
